


Hydromancy

by AcquaSole



Series: Azurrin Week [2]
Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: Azurrin Week, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Explicit Language, F/F, Freeform, Hoshido | Birthright Route, Out of Character, Revenge, Verbal Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-03
Updated: 2016-08-03
Packaged: 2018-07-29 01:30:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7665058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AcquaSole/pseuds/AcquaSole
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Azura decides to take matters into her own hands after the victory at Cheve. Birthright route, featuring a rather scary and darkly intentioned singer. Day two of Azurrin Week: weapon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hydromancy

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not entirely sure if it's a good or bad thing to see how dark this got while I wrote this.

The pub was like any other in that area of Cheve: dingy and poorly lit, but with a freely flowing beer tap and delicious food supplied to the Resistance via their Hoshidan contacts.

The impromptu party was in full swing, buoyed by the Hoshidan’s recent victory against Camilla and Ganz. Scarlet, the uprising’s leader, was engaged in raucous banter against an increasingly inebriated Hinata, and both sloshed drink over their clothes and armour as they laughed. Kazahana seemed determined to relieve the barmaids of their trays as fast as she could, sucking down food at such a pace that an alarmed princess Sakura begged her to be prudent and avoid a stomach ache. Takumi brooded on a stool set in a darkened corner, fiddling with a clay pipe an older bar patron had gifted him and mostly ignoring the man in favour of his older brother, Ryouma. The general seemed to be the one in the highest spirits, laughing freely and clinking his perpetually refilled stein with whoever passed and wished to parley or congratulate him on the success of their campaign.

Azura only had eyes for Kamui. She was pressed to Ryouma’s side protectively, with his arm around her stomach in such a way that it almost seemed that letting go would mean losing her again. Though the colour was high in her cheeks, and she talked and drank and ate like the rest of them, Azura was not fooled by her cheery façade.

Kamui missed her siblings from Nohr, and it pained her to raise a sword against them. No matter how joyously the Chevois celebrated, how they relished a step closer to independence from the lords of Windmire, she could not see Camilla and Leo and Elise and Marx as anything but her loved ones, and not the boot enforcing Garon’s will upon Nohr...try as she might.

So Azura’s dance, as graceful and passionate as she could muster, was meant for Kamui...to raise her spirits and see her smile again. Like water tossed from the white mane of a wave, she moved back and forth, back and forth, retracing her fluid steps as she clapped and spun to the tune of the bells and the shamisen. She was lucky that Azama and Kagerō were well versed enough in the art of music to keep up with her dance, and a Chevois or two volunteered with the strum of a lute and the trill of a flute.

There it was! Kamui’s lower lip had raised itself from its almost frown to that warm smile of hers, the one her family so loved. Ryouma clapped along with the rest of the pub, and Sakura tried unsuccessfully to get Takumi out of his stool for a dance, but Azura’s focus lay solely on the dragon princess. Her gaze was returned as Kamui’s blush bloomed rosier and lovelier, and the dancer was so encouraged by that shy, questing look that she twisted and twirled in place, showing off her strong legs and toned stomach as though she had but an audience of one.

The festive mood died quick with the loud _CRACK_ of a stein being dashed to the floor.

“There a fight startin’?” Hinata slurred excitedly before Cyrus pushed him down to his seat with a thump.

“No. Keep quiet,” Hinoka replied tersely.

The source of the broken glass was a mean looking man whose skin and narrow gaze seemed aged by some ten years more due to living in the middle of conflict. He smirked at the gaping, shocked looks of the pub-goers, cruelly pleased by all the attention. He kicked at a barmaid who had come with a dustpan and a broom to clean up the mess before standing up abruptly and shoving his barstool to the floor.

And his stare was locked onto Kamui.

“What’re we celebratin’ for?” he prompted. He might as well been questioning the air -- no one dared talk back. He began to pace, keeping his crazed eyes on the princess, never blinking once.

“That’s right...no one can answer coz it’s not like we do the same every other day of the week. A malig knight downed in the market district? Bring out the drink! Ole’ Garon got a boil on his arse? Call some girls over and start the guitars! It’s the same shit anyways.”

“Have you any quarrel with us?” Ryouma’s tone was calm, diplomatic even, but he rose to his full height and stared down the man with a look that was clearly a second away from reaching for a knife. If anything, the man’s grin grew wider, exposing greying gums and a wheezing, ale-scented cackle.

“I sure as hell do, _your Highness_. It’s all the same to you fancy lords and Resistance types, innit? Chuck some rocks at a soldier and go to the pub to reward yourself for a job well done, or stir some shit up at the border and still get to run home at the end of the day.” His thin lips pulled down into an ugly scowl, and he began to rub frantically at his neck and dirty shirt. “I don’t get any home to go to! I don’t get any prize money for some dumb stunt a kid can pull off and be rewarded by some hack in armour -- and you’re all here throwing your coin at dumb shit coz you can always hunker down and run away and not live in the middle of a war zone and have Windmire soldiers at your door, you fucks!”

“He’s always like this, your Highness,” the pub’s fat, elderly owner had appeared at Ryouma’s elbow, wringing her hands in a distressed, placating gesture. “His home was one of the ones demolished in a raid a year back...better to keep him fed and safe here than wandering the streets as a vagrant --”

“Shut up, ya dumb fat bitch,” the man snapped at her, and the owner quailed at his tone. Ryouma’s face hardened at the display of such blatant callousness.

“That is no way to speak to the woman who has given you board and kept your stomach full for a year, you ungrateful lout.”

“That’s right princey, lecture me all you want,” he smirked cruelly, swaying lightly in place as he continued to stare at Kamui. “At the end of the day, you’re not the one sufferin’ a visit from Ganz at night. And havin’ the likes of _her_ here makes everything so much worse,” he pointed a finger to the silver-haired girl’s face. If his shocking stunt earlier hadn’t prompted much noise, then the open disrespect shown to a member of Hoshido’s army, and a top ranking officer at that, did.

“You think we’re dumb as mules or something, princey? News travelled fast over what happened at Shirasagi...that a _monster_ killed the queen and nearly got the pretty dancer over here. I don’t know what’s worse, having Ganz at my doorstep, or that _thing._ ”

“That’s not true,” Hinoka’s voice strained hard like her hand did over her lance. “Kamui is no monster.”

“Not only that,” the man cackled gleefully over Kamui’s stricken face, delighting in the few tears glistening on her lower lashes, “but it seems to me that them royal spawn of Garon’s are looking around for her as well! I’m not dumb, no sir I’m not, and if this isn’t the fastest way to get eaten alive or have that bastard Marx sending me off to the choppin’ block for harbouring a person of interest, then I think I’ll need a few pointers on how to die faster!” Angry spittle flew from his gums and Kamui flinched even as Sakura rushed to hug her sister close.

“Shut up,” Hinoka ground out, the leather of her gloves cracking forcefully over her lance.

“In fact, why IS everyone so interested in her, eh?” he asked mockingly and stroked his stubbled chin tauntingly, flaunting his flippant attitude. Ryouma’s nostrils were flaring dangerously, Hinoka and Cyrus had their hands stretched taut over their weapons, and Scarlet looked as though she was ready to punch a hole through the man’s gut. Azura did not foresee anything but an all out brawl or a nasty retaliation in store for him later, despite the near total silence of the rest of the pub’s patrons. 

The man sucked in a hard breath through his nose, a satisfied, cat-ate-canary grin stretching his face into an even uglier look. “I bet I know...it’s usually the same thing goin’ for types like her...tell me, is that pretty little pink mouth of hers any better at eating a man than it is devouring cock? Is prince Marx upset that his little tease ran off to enjoy Hoshidan cum? Or -- wait, wait, I know!” he slapped his knee almost playfully as fat tears began to run silently down Kamui’s cheeks. “I bet she got that cushy army title too in exchange for showing off a hole or two. Ohhh, I’ll bet she had some fun with some of the women too, didn’t she? Is that why princess Camilla was waiting to shove her traitor face into those juicy tits of hers by the city walls? Huh? I’ll bet that’s why, it only makes sense for a _murdering slut_ _like her_ \--”

Takumi flew out of his seat as his arm snagged the man’s neck mid-rant and slammed him onto the floor _hard_. A murderous rage clouded his face as he pounded his fist over and over into the man’s head, not even stopping to wipe the blood that spattered his nose and knuckles. It took the combined efforts of Oboro, Hinata, and Ryouma to pull him off, panting and snarling and bloodstained, and the rest of the patrons seemed to snap out of their horrified stupor long enough to pull the man off from the flagstones.

The only sounds were Kamui’s muffled sniffles before Ryouma spoke again. “We are not cruel people, but even we have our limits. We will not tolerate such hateful language towards a member of our family, and if anyone else has objections towards her presence then they can kindly take their leave now.” The eldest prince released Takumi and turned to Kamui, his gaze softening sadly to see her sobbing quietly in Sakura’s arms, the youngest princess stroking her hair soothingly and turning a distressed look to her brother.

“Azura,” he called to the blue haired dancer, “help us here. See to it that Kamui sleeps soundly tonight.”

  


                                                                                                  

She had stopped crying by the time she had stepped out of the bath, but Kamui’s eyes were still ringed with red and her spirits low. While Azura brushed out her beautiful, silvery-white hair, Kamui did not speak and kept her head low. Azura’s hands trailed gently up her slender neck to tuck in a few stray hairs behind her pointed ears, and began to braid her hair for the night; only then did Kamui lift her downcast face, and their eyes met in the cracked inn mirror. She gave Azura a tiny, grateful smile, and the dancer pressed her brow to Kamui’s head when Hinoka and Sakura were not looking.

How she longed to climb into bed with her and hold her for the night! But no, it was not to be, as Kamui and her sisters shared the bed, the sleeping dragon princess ensconced safely between the two other women. Instead, Azura brushed a soft, sweet kiss over her forehead, lingering almost regretfully by her side.

 _No_ , she reminded herself. _You have job to do, and do it quick_.  

The man was rather easy to find -- he was propped up by one of the pub’s back walls, having been forbidden to step foot within the establishment for the duration of the Hoshidan party’s stay. As she stepped over the brittle, icy grass common to Nohr, she noted, with an immense sense of satisfaction, that Takumi had done a good job of roughing the ruffian up. His shirt was torn and bloody, adding to his already dirty appearance, and his nose and lip had swelled impressively under a collection of purpling bruises and crusted blood.

He was either more perceptive than she thought, or the amount of alcohol and the beating he had taken were not enough to keep him out cold; he stirred groggily at first, his good eye sliding open to find her sitting next to him with Azama’s shamisen in her lap and a serene smile upon her lips.

No matter. It would be all the better to have him awake.

“Heeeey there,” he leered, his eye travelling up and down the length of her pristine white dress, stopping briefly at the pendant that rested over her bosom. “You’re that pretty dancer from before.”

“If it pleases you, I’ll have you know I am a songstress as well,” she demurred, plucking the strings of her instrument almost coyly. “As such, it is my duty to bring healing to the scars of the land with my song and my dance.” Azura dropped her voice lower and peeked out at him from between her lashes. “You were cruel to the princess. Unjustifiably so. And yet, it would also be cruel of us to leave you out here, expose to the elements in such a state.”

“Nothing she can’t handle,” the man scoffed dismissively. “She probably ran off to the princey’s bed for some comforting.” She noted with a hint of distaste that he was half-hard already.

The songstress fell silent. “There are as many sorts of women as there are women,” she murmured cryptically after the end of a long, awkward pause.

“What’s that?”

“Nothing.”

“Well git on with it then,” he snarled impatiently. “I don’t have much time until my arse freezes off. So start healin’ me quick before I die on ya.”

“Of course…”

Azura tuned the strings delicately before practicing an experimental strum. Satisfied that the shamisen would perform to her standards, the sweetest sound the wretched man had ever heard in his life poured out of her mouth as though it was divine ambrosia for him to savour.

_Blowing from the west_

_fallen leaves gather_

_in the east,_

 

_No one travels_

_along this way but I,_

_this autumn evening._

 

He gawked, completely awestruck at her skill and beauty. The effects of her singing were almost immediate, as the anger and bitterness coursing through his veins seemed to die down with the loveliness of her voice.

 _But lo!_ _When I turned my head_

_that traveller I'd just passed..._

_melted in the mist,_

 

_moonless night,_

_a powerful wind embraces_

_the ancient cedars._

 

_In the cicada's night cry_

_no sign can foretell_

_how soon it must die,_

_So I ask myself_

 

_My life --_

_how much more of it remains?_

_The night is brief._

Azura stopped mid-note, jarring the man’s senses. The pleasant, almost loving feeling he had enjoyed dissipated, and the pain he thought had left him returned ten-fold.

“What gives? What kind of a hack performer are you if you can’t even finish what you started?” he yelled furiously. “I get it. You get off on tormenting guys like me, just like your -- gack!”

He began to choke, an unseen force clogging his throat from within and keeping vital air out. He scrabbled uselessly at his neck as Azura tapped on the wood of her instrument thoughtfully before continuing to sing.

_The moon is pure_

_and gazes fondly upon_

_the frozen grass._

The wretch’s eyes began to bulge grotesquely out of their sockets, and he groaned painfully from the force pushing and pulling at his windpipe.  

_When she is cold,_

_I am there_

_to hold her pale arms,_

 

_A flower blooms_

_under her touch_

_I tuck it into her hair._

Thick yellow foam began to pour out of his mouth, nostrils, ears, and tear ducts. His helpless moaning failed to warm the stoniness that had set within Azura’s face -- she watched impassively as the man’s eyes rolled back into his head and he slumped backwards into the wall, wriggling pathetically as the foam turned to water and streamed endlessly out of his rapidly bloating body.

_Her hands are mine to touch,_

_her eyes are mine to gaze,_

_her tears are mine to taste._

  
The dastard stopped his useless struggling soon enough, with the water that strangled him drenching his clothes and scenting the grass with a strangely floral aroma. Shouldering her instrument, Azura walked back to the pub calmly, back to her Kamui. She wondered whether her princess would appreciate a bouquet of white daylilies the dancer had found at the back of the building, so she could forget the unpleasantness of the night prior with their soft, fragrant petals. Like her hair.

**Author's Note:**

> The haiku before the man's death are not mine: they're from the poets Matsuo Bashō and Masaoka Shiki. Azura's line about women is from Lady Murasaki's novel The Tale of Genji -- aka philandering courtier sires a bunch of children and dies young and unhappy.


End file.
